


One candle to the darkness

by tselina



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuals in Space, Canon-Typical Violence, Darth Vader is a Rebel Spy, Extended Universe Ahoy, Fix-It, Functional Polyamory & Alternative Family Arrangements, Gen, Jar-Jar Binks Doesn't Exist, Jedi Leia Organa, Multi, No Twincest - Don't Worry, Obi-Wan Lives Too, Original Characters - Freeform, Original Mythology, Padmé Amidala Lives, Pre-Rogue One & TFA, sorta?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tselina/pseuds/tselina
Summary: “The dark is generous and it is patient and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back.Love is more than a candle.Love can ignite the stars.”- Matthew Woodring Stover, Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the SithONE CANDLE TO THE DARKNESS is a collection of Star Wars "canon convergent" shorts and drabbles, written in early 2016, with: heavy inspiration from the old Extended Universe/Star Wars Legends; help from Wookiepedia for numerous first names, planet names, flora & fauna; and, plenty of personal worldbuilding, with great help from my wife (also a Star Wars encyclopedia), Shoi. The drabbles won't be posted in chronological order, so things might seem a little disjointed, but will (hopefully) make sense later. Content Warnings per chapter.   Please make note of the main pairings, because they're given equal opportunity in the text.





	1. E4.ANH.1.0: A FAILED ATTEMPT AT DIPLOMACY

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of torture.
> 
> If you see text like this, hover over it for a "translation". [If you're on mobile, this is what I use!](http://starwars.myrpg.org/coruscant_translator.php)

The cell was cold, Leia's ceremonial dress clinging with static to her skin. She shivered, rubbing her breastbone, remembering an old trick to keep her blood flowing. The Death Star had a terrible hum around her, the dull drone a little too loud in her ears. It distracted her from the weight of her sorrow, it made her forget how badly she wanted to go home. But there was no home to return to.

Alderaan was gone. It was still like faerytale, some frightening fable second-mother would used to keep her from climbing out of her rooms at night. A weapon so powerful, so _terrible_ , able to casually destroy an entire world and its billions of people-- it was hard to comprehend, and Leia was as quick-witted as they came. She balled her cold hands against her knees, fighting tears, until she Felt her fate approach long before she heard his footsteps from outside.

Vader was finally here for her.

The door to her cell swished open with the neat silence of newly installed machinery. Two guards draped behind Vader, and near him hovered a torture droid, a mess of needles and shock-points sticking out of it like a wicked pincushion.

"It is time, Princess," Vader said. He was completely in black, his helmet obscuring his features; he was droid-like, inhuman, limbs stiff as he gestured for the guards to leave him. She had seen Vader so often in less severe dress, in greys and deep browns, in ceremonial burgundy. Now, he was as alien and dangerous to her as any other man on the station, and that was the worst of all.

"How could you," she said, after the doors were shut, and they were alone to speak freely. "How could you stand there--"

"I was unaware of his plans, Princess," Vader said, his voice crackling behind his respirator. The helmet obscured the usual softness of his speech, and she shivered with its sound. "My position with the Emperor does not give me jurisdiction over military operations."

Leia hugged her chest, staring at Vader's boots. The torture droid made its way to the ground, idling now, and Leia wondered if she would be spared. _Don't count on it._

"What will you do to me?" she asked.

"What I must," Vader said. "You must tell me where the rebel base truly is."

"Just tell the Moff to blow up every planet he comes across," she snapped. "Sooner or later he'll get lucky."

"Hmm." She wasn't sure if the slight shake of Vader's shoulders was a laugh or a shrug. "Well, first. I need you to do something for me."

"Really."

The device hovered near her, and Leia stood stock-still, trying to keep her eyes open, trying to be brave as she could be.

"Say "ah"," Vader said.

Leia clamped her mouth shut in response; Vader shook his head.

"No, just the noise. I promise."

" _Ah_ ," Leia said. The needles did not advance, the tasers did not deploy.

"Ee."

" _Ee_ ," she said, and glared at Vader, terror momentarily forgotten. "Do I need to go through the alphabet, here?"

"It would help," Vader said, and he did shrug now, hands folding behind his back. Leia did as she was told, and the droid swiveled up near its master. Vader pushed a few buttons, twisted a knob, then used his wrist comm, and then the screaming began.

The cell was filled with the sounds of agony and pain, as if they were coming from Leia's own throat. Vader waved a hand, motioning the bot near the door, and he stood before her, cloaked under the noise. He cracked open his helmet, and here was the man she was used to seeing. His eyes were a milky blue, though they were honed on her face; with a pained rasp of breath, he took off his respirator to speak.

"The droids you sent made it off safely," he said. "Lady Theid is safe, and hidden. There is no more you can do here but wait."

Leia's eyes widened; she had never expected to hear her mother's Rebellion code name spoken so frankly, and not from Lord Vader.

"You're him," she whispered, reaching up as Vader began to cough helplessly, putting a hand to his scarred and melted cheek.

"I can do no more, Princess," he said, the ridges of his eyes bowed up in regret. "It must seem--"

"Hush, Lord Vader," she said, imperious, finding strength despite the backdrop of her manufactured shrieking. Her hands lifted to push his respirator back in his mouth, fixing it under his nostrils, and the man stepped back, his gloved hands shaking with his illness.

"Did you know," she began, "in Old Nabooine, the word for _father_ is _vah-der_."

"Is it." Vader had his helmet on again, and he adjusted it, and the inhuman hiss of his voice returned.

"Yes." Leia sat up straight in her alcove, playing with one of her frayed braids, disguising her anxiety with idleness. "Don't you think that's interesting?"

"I suppose." Always mild with her, always patient, and now, a tendril of Feeling, a flicker of heartsickness that sent a chill down Leia's spine. He leaned in without fanfare to prick the top of her hand, calculated and clinical, to show that she had bled.

"I will pass your kind regards to Lady Theid," she said. " _Vader_."

Vader turned away sharply; the screaming stopped, and Leia played her part, slumping against the alcove like a child's forgotten doll. The door opened: "She is too strong with the Force to probe her mind, and she will not speak with even the threat of her life. We must learn the Rebellion's plans another way."


	2. E2.AOTC.1.0: THE YEARS ARE TOO KIND, PART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did not know her face, not really, nor the build of her body, but those eyes told Anakin all he needed to know. It was Padmé. It could be no other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: None.
> 
> LORE NOTE: "Kai-Kan" is a Jedi performance mentioned briefly in old EU lore that [Shoi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoi/) worked to expand on some (MANY) years ago. I've taken some of her ideas and gone forward with it. :)
> 
> My personal mental image of Padmé is of [Amanda Wellsh](https://models.com/models/Amanda-Wellsh)!

Padmé Amidala's entourage made its way down the foyer stairs, and Anakin could not discern if she was the woman in the center or one of the dark-cloaked guards that surrounded her. She'd grown in the ten years since Anakin had seen her in person, but so had he, and he wondered if she would even recognize him at all. 

Anakin had long been adept at keeping close to walls and remain all but invisible to non-Jedi; it was both a testament to his training, and to the fact he was still skittish in social situations. He kept his hood on so that he could watch her party's approach, too shy to step forward, leaving Obi-Wan do the conversational heavy lifting. Not like his Master minded. He loved putting on a good show.

"Master Kenobi." The woman in the middle of the handmaidens stepped forward to greet him. She was lanky underneath the formless curtain of gold-embroidered aquamarine fabric, an elaborate wig hiding her real hair. Her face was hardly made up, her mouth rouged only in the middle, and it was then that Anakin saw her eyes: rich hazel-brown, with natural dark lashes, shifted amber against the brightness of her dress.

He did not know her face, not really, nor the build of her body, but those eyes told Anakin all he needed to know. It was Padmé. It could be no other.

"Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan said, cutting a fine bow, then taking the woman's proffered hands. "It is so good to see you again, in person this time."

"I agree," Padmé said. Her handmaidens clustered near her, the two at the fore relaxing, the rest following suit. Some seemed very young, and Anakin could sense their agitation and worry for their famous charge being so close to strange men, honorable Jedi or not.

Padmé had become the face of a new sort of politics after she, with blaster in hand, helped reclaim her merchant planet ten years ago. She’d re-solidified the Gungan and Human citizens under one banner in the two scant terms she’d reigned as Queen. Padmé made the once puppet-like position into one that wielded power, and it impressed both Anakin and Obi-Wan to hear of her constant progress. She'd grown beautiful, and Anakin had seen pictures on the HoloNet, but had always been draped and made up, unlike she was now. By Nabooine standards, her bare-face was scandalous to show outsiders, and her clothes dangerously close to familial casual.

"I see you have company," Padmé said, pushing up on her toes. She was of a height with Obi-Wan, and if Anakin's master had not worn his heavy boots, he expected her to exceed the older Jedi.

"Yes, this is--" Obi-Wan said, turning to introduce Anakin.

"Where's Anakin?" Padmé asked, rocking back on her heels. "I thought he'd be with you."

Only Anakin could see the quirk on his Master's lips. There was a ripple of mischief that went between the both of them, and the boy could not suppress his own smothered smile. He tugged his robes around his head tighter to hide his shorn hair, easily tucking his Padawan's braid back so that it was not visible in the shadows.

"Yes, this--" Obi-Wan had to clear his throat of a laugh before using all his training to cap his amusement, "--well, Anakin's recovering, you see, from a recent adventure. As you might expect from our letters, he's a bit of a trouble maker."

"Oh, no!" Padmé was now distracted from proper introductions, stepping forward a little closer. "Please, when you message him tonight, I'll need to send my regards."

"Of course."

"He is a trouble maker, Master Kenobi," Anakin said, his voice pitched low and silky, mimicking the older man's cadence, though not his Malastare accent. "But he did find himself injured saving you from--"

"Yes, yes--" Obi-Wan's annoyance was light and almost precious, his hand waving at his disguised apprentice. "Well, of course we will send our best regards tonight. But, Esteemed Senator, I believe we have business to attend to--"

"Will he not make it to the _Kai-Kan_ performance, then?" Padmé asked, wringing her jeweled hands. The real worry in the woman's voice made guilt dig slightly into Anakin's stomach, but he was sure she would only be pleased at the ruse when it was revealed.

"Ah, I believe he will. He will certainly mend within the week. He's a hardy boy." Obi-Wan reached out, rather boldly, and put a hand to her shoulder. The two senior handmaidens tensed, and the rest squared their shoulders, but they backed off when Padmé raised her hand to calm them.

"Thank you. I see you have to travel in pairs, as is best. I understand." Padmé gave him a winning smile, then turned to Anakin with the same. "I hope to give the other Master our finest hospitality while we wait for Young Skywalker to join us."

 _Master! Hah! If only!_ Obi-Wan's voice echoed, and Anakin nudged him rather sharply with one of his covered elbows as they followed Padmé into the inner chambers of her mansion.

The woman was, Anakin found out in a very short time, immensely absent minded. Not, of course, about her job and her station: with that she was very rigid. But more than once, her head handmaidens -- Sabé and Cordé -- had to remind her where she'd put her travel bags, and what exactly their contents were, and if she'd taken them out or not.

By dinner, she'd misplaced her hand-communicator twice. She did her best to fret in silence, trying to search under table runners and near random vases without her guests noticing. The first time, it turned up in the sleeves of her daydress, and the second time, it'd been left on a candle sconce when she’d stopped to adjust her shoes while giving Obi-Wan and Anakin a tour of the garden. And through it all, her assistants seemed impossibly fond of their Lady, and at no time did they seem the least bit impatient.

 _They'd make good Jedi,_ Anakin thought to Obi-Wan as they waited for past their appetizer course. Padmé had forgotten to change as was necessary-- something she rather charmingly bemoaned within earshot-- and she'd missed out on the strange and delicate fish-and-rice items they'd served. Anakin was still relatively new to fish, and was always a bit suspicious of things that remained uncooked, but Obi-Wan seemed rather bored with them and was straining for the first course.

"I'm so sorry," Padmé said from the balcony a story above them, "I'll be right down, just a moment."

The two senior handmaidens arrived before her, leaving their charge to whatever forgetful fate she'd bound herself in, and began to taste their lady's dishes in their matching robes.

"Rather different from the girl we met, hmm?" Obi-Wan teased his apprentice. There'd been nothing of this comical character in the Queen they'd met, either because they'd never seen her outside of her role, or because she'd taken herself far more seriously at the time. Anakin assumed the former.

"I don't know," he murmured, adjusting his robe sleeves. It was humid on Naboo, which was still a new and uncomfortable sensation for a desert-raised boy, and keeping up the farce of his "Master" rank had him sweating under his hood. "She was very stressed at the time, Master."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan demurred, sipping a flute of fine spirits, "weren't we all."

The stewardess's voice interrupted them, her deep voice carrying in the echoes of the hall. "Madame Naberrie, former Queen and now Esteemed Senator, Padmé Amidala." One look and Anakin's stomach dropped as he watched their host glide down the stairs to join them.

Padmé had transformed. Despite the damp heat, she wore a rich burgundy velvet, which was worked over in real brass with vines and flowers. Anakin was reminded rather starkly that Nabooine women often bore their chests freely in marketplaces and countrysides; they were aware that such a practice was considered vulgar beyond their sister civilizations, and would make great pains to cover up when in mixed spaces. To do proud to her culture, though, there was not so much a neckline on Padmé's dress but a plunge to her navel. A small, elegant vine of green tattoo ink curled over from the right side of her hip, complementing the metalwork above it. There was gauze about her chest and back, but it hid nothing, reflecting skin beneath a shimmering gold, and only her legs were covered in a great drape of matching metallic train. Her natural hair, a dark brown that lit chestnut in the firelamps, cascaded down her back with one section braided around her neck that dipped, gold-tipped, between the swell of her barely covered breasts.

There was no sense around her that she was trying to seduce anyone, which was Obi-Wan's sudden thought at seeing her; Anakin shifted in his seat, thankful for learning early on how to tamper down other issues of a body possessed of base passions.

They did not stand, as they would in other places; they were not meant to be higher than her until she was ready to sit. Confident in their tastings, both Sabé and Cordé took their seats around her, cloaked in their full-body robes, which were a much lighter fabric than Anakin's.

 _I can't keep this up for long,_ Anakin thought at his master as they went through the gauntlet of cordial greetings. _I'm dying for a number of reasons, now._

 _Don't be dramatic, Anakin_ , Obi-Wan said, but he, too, had been touched by Padmé's beauty, which was impressive for a man much more fond of “masculine”-leaning genders. Only a few meters away from her, Anakin could see Padmé's face, too long-boned for most human beauty's current standards, but she was handsome and expressive, which made her radiant.

"--the other Knight, I'd forgotten who you said he was? My greatest apologizes, Master Kenobi."

"Ah," Obi-Wan said. His attentions were always better than Anakin's, but he was surprised not to be scolded for his daze. "Well, I will let him introduce himself."

The Padawan's glare was brief and absolute, a mental chuckle Obi-Wan's only reply. Anakin stood, beginning to undo the heavy outer robe that had been all but a sauna in Naboo's evening heat.

"I must apologize, Senator, for not being forthright with you," he said, releasing the inner clasp and folding the hood back last. "I am Anakin Skywalker, and I am not a Knight, nor a Master, but a mere Padawan."

Padmé made a soft "oh!" sound; Sabé and Cordé, in perfect tandem, covered their mouths and coughed with stuttered laughter.

"Oh, ah!" Padmé swallowed, looking immensely flustered. Anakin sat, watching her fan herself, her blush from cheek to chest. "Well, this is a surprise!"

"I did not lie to you, Madame Senator," Obi-Wan said. "He is recovering, and it will be a good week before he's ready to perform. I hope you understand."

Padmé looked between the two Jedi, then laughed, her whole body shaking with it. She put her ringed hand to her mouth, and now she was redder for her mirth, bowing forward; Cordé reached out to make sure the braid did not go into her soup.

"You two are terrible!" she said, beaming as she recovered. "I'm so happy. Everyone's been treating me so seriously since my appointment... Well, now I really need to treat you right."

"No need for preferential treatment, My Lady," Anakin said, pursing his lips in a Jedi's demure amusement. "We are happy to be here."

"Oh, now, my young apprentice, I wouldn't mind a nicer bed," Obi-Wan said, winking over his drink with all that famous charm of his.

"Certainly not," Padmé said, bare shoulders rolling as she corrected her posture. "I have a gualaar stall waiting for each of you."

"Not cleaned out, I hope," Anakin said, raising his mug of vine-coffee. "Only the finest for our sensitive Jedi sensibilities."

Dinner was all about popular pleasantries, but was engaging all the same. Anakin found himself talking, for once, enjoying conversation with near-strangers. Cordé spoke at length about how excited she was for the _Kai-Kan_ \-- "I'd seen a performance years ago, going with my third-father to Coruscant, and it was spectacular!"-- and Sabé spent most of it slyly teasing Padmé for not remembering Anakin in the first place.

"You talk about these two enough, I'm surprised you hadn't exchanged holotapes," the handmaiden said, sniffing gently at the second dessert course placed in front of them.

"I couldn't see his face, you absolute bantha," Padmé said, taking a prim bite once the pudding was cleared for her consumption. "Besides, he's gotten much taller. And all of us were very busy."

"We are happy to see you in such good spirits," Anakin said, taking Obi-Wan's thoughts into words by accident. "We look forward to working with you again for the good of our galaxy."

"Oh, of course," Padmé said, fond. "I'm surprised you'd like to befriend a Senator, though. I know the Order isn't too fond of us at times."

"You're different," Anakin said, this time completely in his own words. "I mean, everyone else says you are. And it's true."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said, the leash between them tightening just slightly. _Calm down, darling, don't forget your training._ "But we must remember we are here for all sorts of business, My Lady."

"Oh, I know," Padmé said, slumping just slightly in her seat. "But Jedi are allowed friends, yes?"

"Of course," Obi-Wan said, patting Anakin's shoulder, then yawning rather suddenly, eyes wide with surprise. "Oh, goodness, excuse me."

"It is late." Padmé looked up at the Nabooine clock that hung over the stairwell. "We need to clear out those Thumpers for your bed..."

"No, I think we'll take the room we were offered with great regret, but thank you." Anakin's Master stood, then placed a solid had on the boy's shoulder, squeezing. "Breakfast, though?"

"Two hours from sunrise," Padmé said, that winning smile on them both. "I'll send a few of the new girls to wake you up and show you the steam baths."

"My thanks, Lady," Obi-Wan said, and they went through goodnights and goodbyes, and walked with grace to their lush accommodations.


	3. E4.ANH-INTV01-E5.ESB: FITS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though "a little odd" was a bad descriptor. They were _very_ odd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Description of seizures.  
> LORE NOTES: I base Chewbacca's relationship with Han very heavily on what I know of the Han Solo trilogy.
> 
> Poor Chewie ain't sure what to do with these kids his Cub brought home, but he'll help as best he can.

Living with the "twins" was harrowing to say the very least. Sometimes Chewbacca wished they'd never taken the path that'd lead to them being on board the Falcon, but he chided himself each time. They were orphans, torn apart from all they knew, with no way to return to where they'd come from. Being kept safe was all Chewbacca could've hoped for, back when he was a young fool in a slaver's mine, and damned if he was going to give up on the new kids just because they were a little odd.

Though "a little odd" was a bad descriptor. They were _very_ odd. Not their personalities, of course. Luke and Leia were headstrong and bright and kind, and they'd already wrapped Chewbacca's boy in their spell. That was just as well. 

What was truly strange about them were the _fits_.

They both had them. Luke's were not as frightening as Leia's, but they were harder to detect. The tow-headed boy was often wistful at the best of times, but his "fit" matched his often far-off expression. The only difference was that he was completely immobile, his eyes fixed on a glassy point beyond the Rims. Nothing would budge him then, not for anything. He'd stir from them as if he'd never been taken from his mind in the first place, which was disturbing enough if he was in the middle of talking to someone. But they were manageable, and Han had learned that he could whisper in the boy's ear while Chewbacca lead a worried Leia away, and from behind them they'd hear Luke's shy, pleased giggle as he was anchored back to Earth.

Leia's were not so benign. Luke's symptoms were that of internal seizures in the brain -- Chewbacca knew enough of medicine to be familiar with them, as head injuries were common in his line of work -- but Leia's were epileptic convulsions. She would drop right to the deck with no warning, like a sack of gravel, and shiver full-body, her eyes rolled up in her head. They were more violent when she was stressed, and thankfully only when she was alone with them; Chewbacca could not imagine what panic it’d cause if Leia had one of these seizures during a briefing. Luke being near her somehow made her worse, which made the boy furious at himself for doing something wrong, even if he could not control it. It was Chewbacca's boy, Han, who would gather Leia up in his arms and tuck her hair back, touch the girl's chin and kiss her lightly, rub noses with her as if they'd been intimate for years.

They kept it a secret, of course. Who would want to know their fearless leader and their top fighter pilot were sick in the head?

The worst thing is that Chewbacca knew what was happening. Anyone with a lick of Force sensitivity would know. He'd long been told by the shamans that he would have walked with the Jedi, if they still lived. With the twins near him, he felt as if those shamans would be out of their depth. He Knew Luke Heard things, he Knew Leia Saw things, and sometimes they would twine together, like threads of night-smoke. Luke would find the headings that Leia muttered cryptically about in her sleep; Leia would know the people they were reaching, what they spoke, as if she'd read it in a book and not her friend's mind.

He'd been so used to Han, Han and his quieting presence, the soft dampening of sensitivity. The energy that was Life flowed in him, of course, but it could not go in, nor out, not really. It hovered around him like he was water and it was cooking-oil, and when he held one of the "twins", their burgeoning power would try to find its way into him, working its hardest to dive into Han's skin. But it wouldn't work. Han was one in a million, a Null. And now there was proof.

Han did not have to summon Chewbacca when these things happened. The Force whispered to him, because it needed Chewbacca there, desperate when Han could not be conquered. Luke was dozing against the galley seat; Han was crouched on the ground, Leia's dead weight in his arms. He was kissing her forehead, murmuring kind things to her.

_Father, don't go with him! Father, you must let the wind die. You will be lost if you go-- Father, Father, Father--_

Chewbacca balked at the galley doorway. Leia was not speaking aloud like she usually did, yet somehow he could Hear her, crying out into the storm. Luke whimpered nearby, and Chewbacca went to him.

"Is this what you hear?" Chewbacca asked the blond boy, shouldering him and petting his hair like a father would.

"Hear _what?_ " Han was in the middle of lifting Leia from the deck; beyond them, Chewbacca could hear Artoo in the other room, trying to keep a nosy Threepio at bay.

"Talking to _Luke_ , for the good it's doing. I know you can't hear her." Chewbacca said, rumbling briefly, still trying to shake the girl's pleading from his head. "When did she--?"

"Five minutes ago," Han said, pulling a face. "What, didn't get the memo in time from the Almighty Force, did you?"

"You sound jealous."

"Of course I do!" Han snapped. "I'd _love_ some advanced warning for once--"

"It is ancient and does not speak," Leia groaned, thrashing a little in Han's grip, "but its mouth is wide open, and it is the song of forever-burning--"

"Ah, c'mon, Princess--"

"I didn't save you two just to let you get eaten!" Leia snapped, eyes fluttering open, but still deep in her dreams. "Just give me a minute, I have to do something, hold on, hold on--"

Han kissed her, stroked her hair. "We're okay, Princess, we're okay. No one's going to eat us."

"You were so cold," Leia said, now jostled back to the waking world, the switch frighteningly seamless. "Oh, Han-je, Han-je, talk to me, you were so _cold_ \--”

"I'm warm now, Princess," Han whispered, taking her hand, rubbing it kindly. “I’m warm now, see?”

Luke whined beside Chewbacca when Leia was finally lulled properly to sleep. The boy curled up against the Wookie like a babe, as if the Force had gone from Leia to try and pick at him next. Chewbacca did his best to push it away with his own wild, untrained Sense. It did not like what it found, Chewbacca's growling Force of a bull-Wookie at his den, and whatever haunted the two cubs left for the moment.

Han placed Leia next to Luke, resting her head on his shoulder. He sat flat on the ground, rubbing his face now that the problem had passed. Chewbacca knew his poor boy to be tired beyond measure; it was enough to have a bounty on your head, looking over your shoulder every other step. It was another for you to spend your time with two sick people who were both impossibly in love with you.

But Han would do his best, even if his eyes grew damp and bright when Luke or Leia fell sick, even if they were red-rimmed with ache and exhaustion. It's what made Chewbacca's boy worthy of his Life-Debt, after all.


	4. E3.ROTS.1.0: ATTACHMENTS, PART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will never forget," Anakin said, and those were his last words to Obi-Wan before he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: None.  
> LORE NOTES: Much of the Padawan/Master worldbuilding, as well as the Oracle business, is borrowed graciously from [Shoi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoi), as is her Anakin. Obi-Wan's endearments are in Old Corellian.

Outside the Temple, the evening commute traffic clogged the skyline, the artificial sunset blocked by rows and rows of hovering vehicles. The usual wave of petty anxiety radiated from the drivers and passengers, the cacophony of horns and sirens a distant, unpleasant orchestra. It suited Obi-Wan's mood well enough; he watched Anakin pace before him, trying to decide his next move, trying to keep it to a terse conversation rather than becoming a full-fledged fight.

 _Some 'negotiator' I am, unable to diffuse this old, tired argument_ , he thought. Anakin may have grown as a Jedi, but the war had made him jumpy and unpredictable at times, as it would any soldier who had fought with his feet deep in the mud. Gone were the days when they had spare time between missions; they had barely been home in past three Standard months, and without fail, the demands of the Council would pour in before they could even put their bags in their quarters. This time, the request was one that got Obi-Wan's blood up.

"Just this one last thing, Master. I swear it."

" _One last thing_." Obi-Wan inhaled, feeling the flare of anger leave his mouth, almost like a foul taste. "You know your Oracle work is dangerous. Anakin, and you still have not recovered for the last time. You have barely slept, for All Gods's sake, and now they demand this of you."

Anakin stilled, staring. "Do you have so little faith in me, Master, that I cannot handle the Oracle's tide?"

Obi-Wan bit his lip and, in place of answer, did not reply.

Anakin turned his back was to Obi-Wan and went to the windowsill, hanging his head, the curls of his brown hair all Obi-Wan could see of his boy's face in the window's reflection.

"They wish to know what will become of the Chancellor's appointment," Anakin whispered. "That is what I am meant to focus on when I take the soma."

"Five Hells, what does that matter?" Obi-Wan cursed. He decided not to step forward; Anakin's back curved in a line too ill-defended to cross without breaking. "Anakin, _min larel_ , they should not ask you for something you are so biased about, in the first place, and--"

"It is clearly a _test_ , Master," Anakin said. "A test of my loyalty to them, for I feel they fear my loyalties to the Chancellor are stronger. But more than that, it is-- if I do this, Master, perhaps it will put their minds to rest about the Senate's desire to throw democracy to the storm just to gain control of the war again."

"The Senate, for whatever else, intervened because they feared for the growing support of the Temple and its presence with the Clone Garrisons," Obi-Wan said. Anakin was aware of how delicate the situation was, of course, but a reminder could do no wrong. "That cannot last forever, and even now, some of my fellow Masters have proposed that we make a _deal_ with the Senate advisers."

"'Some'?" Anakin turned, his bright eyes dulled with exhaustion, too hollow to show fear or reproach. "How many is 'some', Master?"

"Myself, Master Ti, Master Yoda, and we are almost done convincing Master Fisto--"

"Four against eight, not including _myself_ ," Anakin said, snorting. "Not good odds, Master Kenobi."

"Anakin." Obi-Wan stepped forward now, putting a hand to his shoulder. "Do not take the soma. Do not give them your visions. You will die, I am sure of it, or worse, your spirit will never return to your body. To _us_."

Anakin had not shrugged off Obi-Wan's touch since he was a boy, but he did so now, jerking away and Pushing, too, putting Obi-Wan off-balance.

"I do this," Anakin said, deathly quiet, "to protect you most of all."

"Do _not_ make me an excuse for this!"

"Are you not emboldened by my presence, Master?" Anakin stalked forward now, the heat of his power overwhelming, bringing a burn to Obi-Wan's eyes, unbidden. "Is our union not what brings you your _peace?_ "

Sour words crept against Obi-Wan's tongue, but he had not become a Master out of sheer luck. It was easy enough to swallow them, to pull it into the very wellspring of patience that Anakin had just spoken of.

"Yes, this is true," the older Jedi said, careful not to sound to placating. "I know it puts great stress on you, Anakin, no matter how I assure you. I know that--"

"It confounds them," Anakin continued, though quieter for Obi-Wan's calm. "They are nervous, jealous. They will never be so far along in their journey as you. And it is that which will be our downfall, Master, their jealousy. If I can do something to stop them from looking too closely, I will. It is the Council that brought us together, Obi-Wan, and it can just as well take us apart."

It was the Truth, crippling and painful as it was. Obi-Wan stepped forward to grasp at Anakin's shoulders, to embrace him. They kissed, crushing and desperate in the manner soldiers do before the dawn of a battle, and when they parted, Obi-Wan could feel the pain between them, in the link that lingered long after it should have been severed when Anakin became a Knight.

"Sacrifice your feelings for me at least once, Master. Please. Let me go, without sharp words or grievances." Anakin put his nose to Obi-Wan's as they swayed together before stepping away. "Leave me to my duty."

"I wish it was not so," Obi-Wan said. He could feel Fear lapping at his ankles, like the distant waters of a home planet he could not remember. "But go, _min larel_ , my only Padawan. Do not forget your family who waits for you."

"I will never forget," Anakin said, and those were his last words to Obi-Wan before he died.


	5. E5.ESB.1.0: A SLAVE, ONCE, PART 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm glad you're alive," Leia said. "Otherwise I wouldn't have anyone to translate Stubborn Space Pirate for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: None.  
> LORE NOTES: The twins don't kiss! It's a relief to them, and to Han.

"Luke?"

Sitting up was agony, but Luke's friend had summoned him, and he did his best to look a little more lively. Leia wagged her hands as she came forward, grasping for his shoulders.

"Theed's Saints, don’t push yourself," she hissed, and gentled him against the pillows. "I'm sorry, ugh, I should've--"

"Don't be sorry," Luke said, but it was more like, _'doan' beh sahey'_. He squinted to try and shake the fluff from his head, but it didn't really work. "Where's Han?"

"Thawing," Leia muttered, sitting down heavily beside him, petting his hair. "He almost got frostbite going after you."

"Is _that_ what he said," Luke said, wheezing with aborted laughter. "I'm gonna never heard the end of it."

"Yeah," Leia said. She was fidgeting, playing with a small white disk in her hands. "Well, it'll be a while until he's done, and Chewie is fussing over him--”

"You mean, Chewie is complaining about getting grey furs. Oh." Luke, usually not one to pry, couldn't keep his eyes off of the object in Leia's hands. "Uh, sorry -- what's that?"

"This?" She held it up; it was a smooth, crudely carved hank of ivory, strung more recently on a black cord. "It's a gift my father gave my mother."

"Really." Luke reached for it automatically, and Leia, trusting, handed it right over. "What's it made out of?

"Japor, I think," Leia said. "That's what she said."

Luke's eyebrows went right to his hairline. " _Japor?_ That's -- it's a tree from Tatooine," he said, fumbling with the pendant. "It's rare as a snowstorm, there."

"Really?"

"Lord Organa must've found this at one hell of a price--"

"Oh, no," Leia said, reaching for the pendant again, squeezing it as she spoke, "he's my father, but he's my adopted father. Mother called him my second-father, like they do on Naboo."

"So who's your real, uh, sorry." The familial structure outside of the Outer Rim were still puzzling to him. "Who's your first-father--?"

Leia's lips twitched sadly. "He died in -- um, it was when I was about one year old, that's what Mother said."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's all right," Leia patted Luke's wrist. "Well, it's nice to know it's so valuable. I'll make sure to keep it hidden from Han so he doesn't sell it at the next port-of-call."

The joke fell flat. Luke reached out, could sense how _sad_ Leia was, disappointed and worried. Part of it was for him, but that had abated with seeing him. Part of it was--

"He's leaving soon, isn't he," Luke murmured, feeling his own heart sink.

Leia's mouth formed a line. "It's just as well. He has to pay his debts, and the last thing we need is a Hutt debt to handle--"

"But you're thinking you'd sell that trinket just to make a dent on it."

Leia stared at him, her skin going pale, her ears going red. The japor pendant went right in the neck of her uniform, haphazardly tucked there for safety.

"Don't read my thoughts," she whispered, terrified.

"I'm not," Luke said, holding a defeated hand up. "You're _projecting_ them, Leia."

"Damn it," the girl said, then wiped at her eyes hurriedly. "I--"

"One, it won't come to that. And two, you'd have to hock it somewhere else. Jabba has plenty of japor where he comes from." Luke leaned forward, grasping her free hand.

"I'm terrible," she whispered. "I'm no good at showing him -- _anything_ \-- you're much nicer to him--"

"Not really," Luke said, breaking into a big smile. It seemed to put the color back on Leia's cheeks, and she slumped just a little in relief. "C'mon. We're definitely _close_ , Han and me. But you two have plenty of "nice" moments, you know? You two just can't _work_ and get along at the same time."

"I'm glad you're alive," Leia said. "Otherwise I wouldn't have anyone to translate Stubborn Space Pirate for me."

She put her arms around his neck and squeezed; Luke did the same, through all his aches and pains. He thought about how dear Leia had become to him so quickly, and how he knew her heartaches like they were his own. Not all of it was the Force.

"Why don't you go bug him now?" Luke said, settling back into his bed. "Chewie could probably use the break, and maybe you could get some honesty out of him until he slaps up his emotional forcefields again."

"You--" Leia's eyebrows lifted. "You wouldn't be upset?"

"Oh, _no_ , no," Luke laughed a little, waving it off. "Leia, whatever is between me and Han is -- well it’s complicated -- but it won’t _change_ , if you’re included. I can guarantee that.”

"What are _twins_ for, if they can’t share?" Leia said, using their nickname with a grin. "All right, Skywalker. I'll give him a visit."

She paused as she left, turning back towards Luke's bed. She untucked the japor ivory trinket from her coat, then hooked it around her neck properly.

"This comes from Tatooine," she said. "My first-father came from Tatooine, I think.”

“Do you know his name?” Luke asked. "Old Ben told me mine, it's why I took the name Skywalker. I might be able to look it up in the archives. Since he was human, he was probably a slave, once."

“I wish I knew,” Leia said, looking at her boots. “My mother never told me.”

Something rippled between them, a brief flare of a memory that they seemed to share, a face they could see, poised high, like it was above a crib. A face, scarred, but smiling; a laugh, and someone calling a name: _Anakin, come back--_

Leia took a step back, confused as she always was, when they’d connect like they did. "Yeah," she said. "Um, let me get going -- I'll give Han your regards."

"Yeah, and maybe a smack upside the head," Luke said, mouth twitching.  "Give our guy some hell for being a hero. He'll think twice next time."

Leia gave him the same twitch of a smile and left him to convalesce. Luke closed his eyes, trying to shake the surprise of hearing his father’s name in Leia’s head gave him.

 _Ben better have some answers for me when I see him next,_ he thought, and slept.


	6. E3.ROTS-INTV01-E4.ANH: THE SAILORS DROWNED, TOO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is not the one singing. He is the one pulling her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Body horror.  
> LORE NOTES: Playing fast and loose with my "numbered parents", which can get confusing! Padmé's bodyguard/lover, Nim'avida, is considered Leia's second-mother because she's connected to her birth mother more intimately than through her mother's consortship/marriage to Breha Organa. It doesn't mean that Breha isn't close to Leia by any means, it's just a social convention. Vader is, of course, speaking in Huttese.

The room is ivory-colored, smokey at first, but it settles around her ankles soon enough. In it she can hear countless voices, almost painful to hear ears, in many languages and guttural clicks, the shrill noise of sentient robots finally putting her to one knee--

She's walked this path before, but it is only now, at seven years old, does she realize what she is hearing. It is what could-be and what has-been; there is no "Now". There are faint images in the remaining haze, and she steps on them with bare feet. She wears her night-shift still, her hair pillow-mussed, but she is not in her rooms at all, and wonders with a pounding heart if she has been transported into the afterlife.

In the distance she hears singing, a man's lovely voice, rich with promise and contentment. But there is an edge to it she does not like, and in her bones she know it is a Siren's song, like the creatures that drowned enthralled pray in her first-mother's homeworld. She runs, but there is nowhere to go,  just vast empty space, until she stumbles and her knees hit the deck of an unknown ship. It is crowded, and old, and she can hear the frayed circuits around her, and there again is that singing. With trembling hands, she begins to move through the narrow-walled decks, screaming names she does not yet know without her voice. The deck morphs, changes into something dark, despite all its light, and she can feel the vastness of this new craft, like she is poised on a barren moon.

The song beckons her again, and in her fear, she lets it soothe her, rather than repel her. It is the voice of a Father she's never had, one that seems to hold all the answers she seeks. Faery song or not, she wants to escape this morphing terror, and she begins to walk up the Imperial Palace steps--

" _Kaae Wuaha_ , don't go," a man's voice whispers near her. It is both light with youth and scratchy with ill-health. A presence -- familiar, does she know him? has she met him before? -- stands behind her, beside her. A hand touches her shoulder. He is not the one singing. He is the one pulling her back.

The Palace looks different, the tapestries replaced with somber colors, but it is brighter, the ivory color again, and though she stands amid the bodies of children -- had they followed the Father's Song? -- she knows this new presence is _safe_.

"I won't let you be led astray." She looks up: hair that was once blond, eyes between Naboo's blue waters and Alderaan's great plains. A scar over one eyebrow takes over his face, but he smiles still at her, even as the proof of torture and time disfigures his face before her eyes. "I will teach you, Leia, _mah weuen_ ," he says, "but you must never follow the Father's Song. I did, and it killed me. I will not see the same happen to you."

Yet the Song is painfully tempting, and Leia turns to look, and it is Sheev-opa, her mother's teacher, a man like her grandfather. He's bent in half like a knotted tree, his skin dripping from his gnarled limbs like candle-wax.

"Please help me, Lei-je," he begs, reaching for her with melting hands, as the flesh slides to show bulging yellow eyes and the shiny white of his skull. "Don't let him kill me--"

" _Sheev-opa!_ "

Leia's throat ached from crying out; she shivered as her dream-sweat stuck her nightgown to her skin, the breeze of the Alderaanian spring stinging like a late winter's gale. She shoved her comforter around her, squeezing her eyes tightly, trying to banish the image of the Emperor's horrific dream-death and failing.

"Leia!"

Nim'avida burst into her chambers, two daggers in hand. In the night lights, her lavender skin was almost gray, her lekku still swaying from her violent entry. The Twi'lek woman was by her side in moments, pulling her close; Leia clutched Nima's shoulders, fingers sinking into her second-mother's nightshirt. The tears came hot and heavy, enough to make her hiccup with her sobs.

"Ni-mama!" Leia whispered, "Ni-mama, I had another nightmare--"

"Shh," the Twi'lek whispered, petting the girl's hair, working tangles out with nimble fingers. "I know you're used to your first-mother being here for these things, I can hail her."

"Ni-mama, don't bother her, you're more than enough," Leia said, wiping her snotty nose on her sleeve, staring at the slime. "-- ew."

Nima made a face, pushing a blunted claw to her nose. "That's dis _gusting_ , Princess," Nima said. "You humans and your desire to be _crusty_..."

"Stooop," Leia said, unable to stop giggling, the mood sufficiently brightened. Nima bumped her smooth forehead to Leia's, tugging at her ears.

"Remember when you used to ask why second-mama had such long pretty "ponytails"?" the Twi'lek teased, picking the girl up as if she weighed nothing, like she was no more than a toddler. "And how you wanted to have them too, so you begged for me to plait your hair back? Even when it was so short I had to use ribbons to finish the job?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's go do that right now." Nima dropped her on her feet, petting back the girl's hair. "Closer to the fireplace, maybe, it's gotten cold... You can pick out some of the expensive trim from Pama-je's latest purchase. I won't tell if you won't."

"Promise on my toes and nose," Leia said. She took her second-mother's hand, and for a little while, she couldn't hear the Emperor begging, or hear the strange man's words. The Father's Song haunted her, and even in her waking hours, she could hear its echo, sweet and poisonous and beckoning her to return.


	7. E5.ESB-INTV01-E6.ROTJ: THE TIDE CAN ALSO DROWN YOU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You have," Vader said, with no further explanation, "four Coruscant hours head start after this planet's dawn. After that, I am coming down there, and then, I will choose one of you as the gift to the Emperor. Just one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: Depictions of drowning.  
> LORE NOTES: I don't know what planet they're on, and really, neither do they.

The water funnel pulled them down like they had sandbags tied to their ankles. Leia reached for Luke, grasping each wrist with her own, hauling him near her.  Luke's chest was near to bursting with fear and lack of oxygen. Leia held him tight, but instead of fighting towards the surface or towards the shore, she squeezed his arms close to her, locked him into place, and then current took them.

He passed out, and when he woke, his chest hurt like hell. Leia's breath, still sour from their supplement drink, was pushing down his throat. He sputtered and coughed up water, slimy and thick, and opened his eyes.

Leia's hair was free of its tight bun, her hair lacquered to her still-healing scars. Her new mechanical eye was nearly all pupil -- she was studying his vitals, no doubt -- and her human eye was white-rimmed with fear.

"Oh, Saints, I thought I'd _killed_ you," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his and shuddering. He didn't have the heart to snipe in agreement, even to lighten the mood. He didn't _want_ to move, and his arms and legs tingled as oxygen-rich blood moved back into them, his mechanical hand twitching.

"You're the one from a water planet, not me," Luke rasped. "I figured you'd know what to do."

"You're supposed to let the riptide take you," Leia explained, taking stock of what had survived in their water-logged backpacks. "If you fight the undertow, it'll tire you out, and you're sure to drown. But if you don't fight--" Her lips trembled, and she laughed, high in her nose. "Oh, it sounds like a damn metaphor."

"So what if it is? It worked, didn't it?" Luke said, rubbing his throat, then his split lip, trying to calm himself from yet another near-death experience. "Where are we?"

"That's the thing with riptides, it just-- tosses you out wherever. You can end up on a completely different shore." Leia shoved her hair back up in her helmet, securing it to keep it free. "So I don't know where the ship is, or Artoo."

Luke sensed a ripple between them, Leia trying to shut him out with shame.

"Don't say you're sorry," Luke said, reaching to her, grasping her shoulder. "Please. We're--"

"We haven't gotten along since Bespin," Leia said, sagging, falling backwards towards him. "We can't even stand to be around each other, and I don't know _why_."

Luke put a hand to her head, steadying them both. "Me neither."

"Then why can't we make this _work_ _?_ "

"You're both too busy trying to listen to the world, than to each other."

A man's voice, crackling and thin, from one of their salvaged radios. Leia squawked and scooted back from the thing as if it’d become a sand-viper. Luke yanked it off the ground, twisting the analog dial to find a steady frequency. He knew that voice.

 _"Vader,_ " Luke said. "What do you want?"

"You have," Vader said, with no further explanation, "four Coruscant hours head start after this planet's dawn. After that, I am coming down there, and then, I will choose one of you as the gift to the Emperor. Just one."

"What the hell?" Leia scrambled forward on her knees, hands pinning around Luke’s to drag the receiver towards her. "Vader! Why are you doing this?”

"You know why, Little Flower," Vader said, but it was not coming from the radio, now. It was channeled through Leia's mind, which was suddenly wide open between them and the Sith Lord. There was a sharp burst of static, and the radio went dead.

"So, uh," Luke said, tugging the radio away from her grip. "We should try to find where the riptide took us before this happens."

"We need to rest first," she said, business-like, unwrapping her damp wrist comm. It flickered, but they were hearty machines, and so it didn't take long for it to come to life. "I’ll try to hail Artoo. You go first, you're recovering. I'll give you three hours, then I nap for two -- then it should be dawn, and we’ll figure out what to do then.”

Luke opened his mouth to protest, but Leia looked at him, a fragile nervousness that had overcome her since they'd become lost. _She's a war general, she's not used to feeling insecure. One misstep, and she could put the entire operation in danger. No wonder she's been so upset._

_Me? I've never had that much on my shoulders. I was raised on a desert farm. My biggest responsibilities were making sure tourists didn't get caught out in a sand-storm._

"Sounds like a plan," Luke said, recovering with a smile. "I have all faith in you."

He did, too: he let it reach out, his heart to hers, ebbing the tide of her fear and worry. It took her shoving his shoulder to make him stop.

“Hey, careful!" Luke whined. "Didn't you say I needed time to heal?"

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Leia muttered. She pulled something small from her sagging belt, its green light winking in her palm. “But you should pass it over with a regen-wand, just in case.”

“Understood, General,” Luke said, giving a little salute with his human hand. Leia pulled a face, one that didn’t match the flicker of relief between them.

“Well, get to it, Skywalker,” Leia said, crisp and haughty, but Luke saw her cheeks pinch in a smile as she turned away.


	8. E2.AOTC.2.0: ATTACHMENTS, PART 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not a good idea to challenge a Jedi in a game of toss, Lady Naberrie,” he said, with as much false gravitas as he could summon. “We will always win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGS: None.  
> LORE NOTES: I fixed that stupid pear scene and NiceGuy(TM) Anakin! (Eat it, movie.)

Naboo's humidity never ceased to make Anakin uncomfortable. He finally had robes made for the weather, which made his sweat cool his skin as it evaporated. It was a thinner fabric than he was used to, though, so he felt almost naked. It would have been fine to be naked in this bazaar, however. Anyone humanoid in the place was certainly wearing little-to-nothing. Flesh of every color was bared as people of all species moved about him. It did not distract him, but it did jostle his senses. Tatooine markets would never have seen so much skin, for the fact that almost every species not covered in scales or fur was susceptible to the burn of the planet's twin suns.

Padmé had matched his pale colors, though she was a little more ostentatious, navy and gold gauze swathing her form. As she was meant to be a merchant-woman rather than a senator, out and about with her new, scandalously younger second-husband, she dressed for the part. As such she had little clothing beyond a modest blue skirt and the glittery, transparent mesh around her torso. Legs were, apparently, far more scandalous to show off than anything else, which apparently made sense to human water-planet dwellers but not very much to Anakin.

Anakin peered at his wrist-comm, realizing he hadn’t heard from Obi-Wan yet today, but tried to assure himself that the lightyears between the two of them made a mess of timing. Nothing had spiked in their mental bond that Anakin considered trouble, though Obi-Wan's signature was faint at best, and the Padawan was already a little heartsick for not being around his mentor.

It took only this moment of distraction for Anakin to lose Padmé completely. When he’d stopped to check the time, she’d been in front of him, chattering on her hand-comm at Sabé, her words drowned out in the din around them. When he looked up, she was simply gone. Anakin's heart jumped, and he reached out, immediately threading through the tightly woven mingling of the bazaar's people and their Force. He knew Padmé's signature well, now, and focused on that bright flare of her buoyancy, dodging through the beings that stood in his path, using his abilities to gently nudge them aside, like furrows in sand.

"You’re cheating me!”

It was a familiar human woman’s voice, speaking in Huttese: Padmé. She was red-faced and fussing at an Ualaq man behind a large, extravagantly decked fabric pavilion.

"Sorry, Ma’am, but you’re mistaken," “the humanoid said, gesturing idly with his clawed hands, his four eyes blinking smugly. “I’m selling this so low you’re stealing it.”

"Mistaken? I know cheap fabric when I see it," Padmé said, gently shaking a bolt of what looked to be a perfectly serviceable violet satin. 

The Aqualish merchant wasn't concerned about Padmé's insults. “Now, Miss, don’t say things like that. If it was so cheap, you’d just put it down.”

 _She speaks fluent Huttese_. It made sense, now Anakin knew more about her. One of her fathers had taken her all around the galaxy when she was young on his merchant duties; the Naberrie line, while not aristocracy, was known for its prowess in the markets. Knowing Huttese would be a requirement for getting the best out of trade in the Inner or Outer Rim.

"I’m not paying you more than ten for this bolt," Padmé said, tapping the bolt against the stall edge.

"Ten?" The Ualaq was getting testy, the shimmer of anger running through his Force. Anakin was close enough to move, if need be, but he knew, somehow, she was in no trouble. “It’s worth more than that, and you know it. Hand it back over.”

Padmé pursed her lips, amusement almost palpable in her Force. 

"Eleven," she said.

"Thirteen!"

"I’ll give you twelve and a half, if you throw in that bolt of blue velvet.”

The Ualaq growled and tossed his hands up in the air. He held out a cobalt-colored velvet and motioned with his palm for payment. She slapped down a small stack of wupiupi on the table, then turned and smiled at Anakin, as if she'd known he was shadowing her there all along. The humidity hadn’t been kind to her makeup: her rouge had smudged, her eyepaints ran, her frizzy hair stuck to her sweaty skin. Yet at that moment she had never looked so lovely to Anakin, aglow with a kind of victory only a good bout of haggling could bestow, and that was something he could appreciate. She was radiant, dazzlingly so; he gave up figuring out how to scold her for escaping.

"I need you to carry these, dear!" she said Basic, plucking the other bolt of fabric away from the Ualaq’s grip. The merchant pawed at one of the gold coins, lifting it to his mouth and scratching it with his beak.

“Oh, come on now, those are real,” Padmé said, scowling.

The Ualaq snorted. He eyed Anakin as he approached, wary. Anakin was used to awe due to his status as a Jedi, but the fact his disguise meant he'd hidden his Padawan braid meant that no one knew him from any other human.

"You wife, she got a big mouth," he crackled in Basic.

"It’s a pretty one, though," he replied smoothly in Huttese.

Padmé's nose wrinkled, and she flounced towards Anakin. "Come on, _darling_ , I see some bodice work I want to buy."

By the end of the day, their packs and arms were heavy laden with purchases. Most were tied bundles of fabrics and ribbons and dried fruits, but when they’d settled into their “honeymoon” quarters, Padmé had surprised him with a travel tool kit and a few small nets filled with toy ‘droid parts.

“So you don’t get bored,” she said, pushing them at him with almost girlish embarrassment.

“Thank you,” Anakin said, watching her return to work. They’d decided to unload in the sitting room, the lights there bright enough for Padmé to see the quality of the wares she’d purchased. They passed time in silence, letting the melodic chime of metal and the pleasant drag of fabric accompany the crackling of the fire.

“You speak Huttese,” Anakin said, while fixing the last of a toy ‘droid’s delicate wings in place. “I didn’t know you knew it so well.”

"Oh, I learned it after the battle," Padmé said. She’d moved on to pawing through the ribbons, having set the fabric bolts in order. "I mean, I knew enough to get around before, but now -- it's a good merchant language. We Naberrie have to expand our horizons, after all."

"Yeah, but," Anakin said, “now I can't talk about you behind your back."

Padmé snorted, tossing something in a fluttering sky blue right towards his head. "Oh, that. Well, you haven't said anything that I didn't already know!"

Anakin lifted a hand to halt the ribbon in mid-flight with the Force, letting the tail dangle for a moment, before dropping it to the carpet.

“It’s not a good idea to challenge a Jedi in a game of toss, Lady Naberrie,” he said, with as much false gravitas as he could summon. “We will always win.”

“Oh, that’s what you think!”

A bundle of silver cord came next, two balls of knitting yarn, then a pillow or two, and finally, some of Padmé’s wrapped candied pears. Each projectile was met with the invisible wall of Anakin’s Force, and they all remained suspended about him like puppets in a theater play.

“I told you, Senator,” Anakin said. He waved his hand, and everything slowly coasted to the ground -- all but of the pears. He twisted his wrist, and the foil peeled off of the candied fruit with a flourish.

Padmé made a genuine noise of distress. “No, Ani! Those are mine!”

“ _You_ threw them at me,” Anakin said, plucking the pear from the air, taking a bite. “I think that means they’re _mine_.”

“You stinking sack of shaak shit.” Padmé swung another pillow, using it as a shield as she rushed him to knock him off the chair. Anakin let it happen, and they wrestled like tuskcat kits on the ground briefly, and she’d pinned him near the fire, her long braid slung over her shoulder, tickling his cheeks and nose. She watched the fire play on his skin, and opened her mouth to stay something triumphant, but froze still instead.

Anakin felt her Force tremble with a terrible memory, of a moment like this not so long ago. He saw it as if it was in his own mind: Cordé, dying, crumpled in the wake of the ballroom explosion, and he felt the stomach-dropping sensation of a person’s soul detach from its physical boundaries, returning swiftly to the Force. Padmé began to weep, her slim shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, and Anakin drew her close into an embrace to comfort her.

He’d seen her fray throughout the day, piece by piece. More than once, he’d seen Padmé try to call Cordé on her hand-comm and not get an answer, and then Anakin would watch her jaw tremble as she remembered why. Padmé could not even attend her friend, her protector’s funeral, for the sake of her safety.

“I’m sorry, I should --”

“Be over it by now?” Anakin gathered her hands in his, feeling her shiver. “You are a good woman, who loves the people around her. Cordé did her duty, yes, but she was also your friend. Why shouldn’t you mourn her passing?”

“I just -- “ Padmé took in a heavy breath, wiping at her nose and eyes. She was furious, her Force flaring, bitter. “I should be there, Ani. To see her soul off, back to the Water, to the Core. But I can’t! I’m here, knee-deep in a pile of useless baubles, sobbing like a child!”

“Senator,” Anakin said, gathering her hands in his, feeling her long fingers tremble. “ _Padmé_. You are not a Jedi. You are allowed these attachments. I am not going to lecture you. I am here to help you feel peace, and to protect you in Cordé’s stead.”

 _If I couldn't make it to Obi-Wan's pyre, I'd be beside myself, too,_ Anakin wanted to add, but didn’t. Right now, he had to project serenity, for Padmé’s sake.

“Ani,” Padmé smiled at him, her cheeks were red from her tears, glistening in the firelight. ”This -- this helps.”

“It is my pleasure,” Anakin said, inclining his head, raising her hands between them.

“You’ve really grown up well,” Padmé said, drawing her fingers away. She placed them on his clean-shaven jaw, and they met eyes; the mood shifted between them, a dangerous crackle of oil on open flame. Their Force began reach out to each other, and Anakin could hear Padmé’s heart as if it was his own, beating heavy in his ears. They leaned close to one another, their noses touching, eyes lowering -- and then stopped.

Anakin, regardless of his bond with Obi-Wan, was a Jedi, and all the teachings against attachment that entailed. He was also nineteen, hardly a man on any human planet, not even old enough to own property on his own homeworld. The flippant merchant-woman Padmé was portraying could have such a trinket for a husband, but not an esteemed Senator like herself, and not one so important that her life was in constant danger.

They drew back in tandem. Anakin took a heavy, settling breath, reaching inside for cooling calm. Padmé cleared her throat and placed her hands primly on her folded knees.

“Well,” she said. “There’s something else you could do for me, Anakin.”

“Yes, Senator?”

“Get that pear off the ground before it becomes one with the carpet,” Padmé said, standing and dusting off her skirt.

Anakin made a face at the candied pear which was, indeed, caramelizing against the fibers of the rug. He began to tug it up with a gentle pull of Force, trying not to unravel the rug, hoping it would not come to him having to touch the damn thing.

“You’re very handy with that power of yours,” Padmé said. “Can you clean up the rest of this nonsense? I have to go change.”

“I’d be happy -- wait, change?” Anakin stared at her. “Again? It’s the third time since we got home!”

“I have to keep up appearances,” she huffed. “I’m supposed to be celebrating my recent marriage, and besides, I’m saving you a lot of trouble by doing some things _for_ you.”

“And what’s that, Madame Senator?”

“ _You’re_ supposed to be helping me with these costume changes,” Padmé said. “But I thought I’d be merciful, considering."

“I’d be a very poor Jedi if I couldn’t keep my mind focused on the job at hand,” Anakin said, as solemn as one could, with a hovering, hair-covered candied fruit beside his head.

“Well, then, let’s put that to the test, hmm?” Padme flipped back her waist-length braid, sighing. “Come on. We can clean up later -- I do need your help. All the latest fashions are ridiculous, and I’m going to need your Jedi tricks to get half these ribbons in place.”

Anakin bowed at the waist. “Have no fear, Senator. I am here, and the Force is always with you.”

Padmé should have responded here with another quick-witted quip, the volley of playful banter returned. Instead, she was quiet, studying the fireplace beyond Anakin's shoulder, then his face.

There was an ache from her Force that had nothing to do with base desire. Anakin knew it well, though it had been many years since he'd felt that way.

She was lonely.

“Force or not," she said softly, "you’re more than enough to me, Anakin."

He stepped forward, then, reached out to comfort her with a gentle touch,  a push of his Force to her heart, but it was too late. Though the physical space between them was wide open, Padmé had already shuttered herself away.


End file.
